Forever and Always
by KelliP
Summary: It all starts with a drawer. Post-ep of sorts for 5x14 Reality Star Struck.


**FOREVER AND ALWAYS**

* * *

"_Maybe it's in another drawer."_

"_It _is_ the drawer."_

- 5x14 Reality Star Struck

* * *

It all starts with a drawer.

Then two.

He empties one for her- top left in his closet, right beside his bathroom for her convenience. Even helps to bring over a few outfits to fill it, selecting his favourites from her wardrobe. The figure-hugging lounge pants for those lazy days. The white business blouse that's just transparent enough to tease him with the dark, lacy outline of her bra. Those long skinny jeans that wrap around her pins like a second skin, the length of her legs stretching for miles whenever she shimmies into them.

He also tries to sneak in that barely-there scrap of red lace he loves so much. She catches him.

(She puts it in the bag anyway.)

Castle fills his drawer up, too, though his belongings aren't quite as exciting. A pair of business slacks, a few collared shirts, a couple of timeless novels to skim through while Beckett curls her hair of a morning. Just enough so there's no need to pack a bag when they sleep at her place.

Though it's more what the drawer represents rather than what it contains.

It's just the start.

* * *

She's a lot more… _organised_ than he is.

That's putting it lightly. He remembers back to the beginning days of their partnership, where the words _control freak_ had been thrown around a lot. It was true.

It's still true now.

That _need_ to be in control – always in control – is an inherent part of her personality. It's more than that, of course. It's a driver, a fierce determination. He loves her for it, yes, though it can make her predictable.

"You're a creature of habit, Katherine Beckett," he tells her one night.

They're already tucked into bed, though the lamps on her nightstand still spill a warm light across the room. The pages of her book rustle against one another as she turns it upside down, the paperback balancing precariously on her thigh as it holds her place in the story. He doesn't quite know what to make of the face she shoots him – curious or irked, he's not quite sure – but then she's quirking an eyebrow at him with the same amusement that curls on her lips.

"Is that a bad thing?"

An alarm sounds loud in his head, a voice screaming out that it's a trap, warning him to answer with nothing other than _No, Kate, of course it's not bad_.

But as usual, Castle ignores the voice and shrugs. "Depends on how you look at it," he starts off a little cryptically before diving straight into the ridiculous. "If aliens were looking for someone to abduct, you'd be perfect. You live your life by a routine. It'd be all too easy for them to snatch you."

She rolls her eyes. "Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to switch up my routine every now and again just in case aliens are roaming the night sky."

Castle holds his tongue behind closed lips. His eyes on her are scrutinising, unwavering, watching as she picks up the book in her lap and attempts to return focus to the pages. He waits her out, though, knows the casual comment he's thrown out will eat at her.

It starts with a purse of her lips, the slight fall of the book in her hands as it loses the attention it never really held. Then comes the scowl between her brows, the tug of her lower lip between her two front teeth as the comment gnaws at her. Then it's time for the finale- a huff of her breath and flush of her cheeks as she flips the book face down in her lap once again.

She's a little startled when her eyes flick up to find his already on her, but she recovers quickly. "What do you mean, 'I'm a creature of habit'," she quotes. The slight bite underlying her tone warns him to tread carefully.

"You always dot your _i's_ and cross your_ t's_," he starts off lightly, a vague nod to her controlling tendencies. "Your paperwork is always placed on your desk so it sits perfectly parallel to the edge. Always a black pen; never blue."

Her brows knit together. "Really?"

Just one nod before he continues. "Your coffee order is always the same. Grande skim latte with two pumps sugar free vanilla. The time I swapped out the vanilla for hazelnut, you didn't speak to me for the rest of the day."

Those soft pink lips purse once again, somewhat a mix of remembrance of that day and denial it ever happened.

"And at night, before going to bed, you like to read. Half an hour- no more, no less. Whatever happens within the pages of your book, whatever time of night is ticking on the clock, come that half-hour mark the light is switched off and you're ready to sleep."

Something of a heartened surprise flickers in her eyes as she takes in his words, then, "What's your point?" There's no bitterness to her tone, just a curiosity that makes him smile.

Castle shrugs. He hasn't got one.

He's just sure all this information will come in handy one day.

...

...

It does.

Eyes always watching, it isn't long before he notices how every time she walks into her apartment, her first action is the gentle dropping of her keys into the bowl beside her door.

When the timing is finally right, he places the brand new key to his apartment he's had cut in that very bowl, leaving it there without a word for her to find.

She can take it or leave it. Her choice.

...

...

He finds a lone, sparkling key by his door two days later.

It doesn't fit his door.

It fits hers.

* * *

The key makes it easy to sneak into her apartment, and sneak her belongings back out.

He takes them one by one, slipping items into his home without her knowledge. He starts small – a pair of shoes, an extra blouse. Nothing so personal so she won't necessarily notice it's missing.

(She does. The curl of her lips as she finds it in her drawer gives her away.)

But there's never a protest that sounds from her mouth.

As the days merge into weeks, Castle grows a little bolder. Pinches the white gold earrings that light up her eyes, rests them on the nightstand on her side of his bed. Steals the rustic photo frame that holds their smiling faces and slips it in the wing of his jacket, ready to place on his dresser the first chance he's allowed.

It isn't long before he comes home one day without her to find the hand-painted ceramic elephant that usually rests on her dresser now perched atop his instead. The grin breaks out freely on his face, crinkles his eyes with joy.

She's sneaking things over too.

* * *

"Detective Beckett," Gates summons her one day. "And Mister Castle."

He gulps, the fear already burning back up again. The Captain's tone is anything but amused, the swift closing of the door behind them signalling to the trouble they're in.

"I think the two of you know why you're here."

Beside him, Kate gives a single nod. He follows suit, tries to smooth over the lines of his face. No need to panic. They've been called in here twice before on false alarms after all.

"This photo in the paper…" Gates breaks off, a heavy sigh flowing from her lips as she pinches the top corners of today's paper and holds it up for them to see. Their own naïve faces stare out from the print, their smiles from Sunday morning nothing but mocking.

Meandering through Central Park.

An innocent brush of their fingers.

The gentle touch of his palms to her cheek as he draws her in to steal a kiss.

"Happy for you though I may be," Gates starts slow as she lowers the newspaper, "We have rules for a reason. It is _your_ job, Detective-" She levels a stern glare at Beckett, "-to uphold the rules of society. Surely you understand their importance within the precinct."

Beckett lowers her eyes, saying nothing. He knows she won't apologise for this, for them.

"Considering Mister Castle is not a paid employee of the department, I will leave your punishment to slide just this once. However, it's time this unique partnership draws to a close."

...

...

They remain mute as they exit Gates' office, heads ducked to avoid the concerned glances thrown at them from the boys. He hovers close to her, a little unsure whether he's supposed to leave without another word, but then she's taking his hand in hers and drawing him toward the elevators without any lingering care as to the secrecy of their relationship.

The ride down to the lobby is just as tense, the gravity of Gates' decision weighing over them heavily. That they won't be able to work side-by-side every day is already killing him.

But it doesn't mean they shouldn't be able to see each other every day.

"Move in with me."

Beckett startles, the intake of breath sharp in the silence of the descending box. "Is that a serious invitation?" Her voice is soft, questioning, laced with the hope she can't hold back.

He gives the small hand tucked into his a gentle squeeze. "Wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it."

Her answer comes before the elevator hits the ground.

"I'll tell my landlord to start searching for a new tenant."

* * *

It takes him weeks of searching and trips across all corners the city to find the ring that's perfect for her.

It takes him even longer to try and plan the perfect proposal.

Big, yet intimate. That's what she once told him.

There are the clichés that spring to mind. A candlelit dinner with rose petals sprinkled across the white tablecloth. The ring baked into a rich chocolate cake. Skywriting. They're all out of the question; too derivative, lacking any special meaning.

He considers purchasing a mug with the words printed elegantly at the bottom, just waiting for her to see upon finishing. Too complicated. He knows she'll question why the mug isn't her usual.

There's the option to have the question printed as the dedication for his next novel. Along with that comes the risk of someone leaking it early. A book launch party, perhaps? No. A little too public.

There's the sentimentality of taking her back to the rooftop on which they first met, but again, no. A reminder of his playboy days isn't the best of ideas when he's trying to ask Kate to spend the rest of her life with him.

So for now the ring rests underneath his side of the mattress, tucked away safely until he can find just the perfect way to ask.

...

...

She corners him in bed one night, fingers warm as they snake around his neck, the touch of her lips light as she whispers against his.

"Just ask me already," she murmurs. His eyes search hers, finds a reflection of eagerness and devotion and a soft plea and-

Oh. She knows.

He startles a little as she smooths her hands over his face, because he wanted this to be perfect. She's extraordinary, so utterly remarkable, and deserves nothing less.

But then here she is: curled at his side, so willing with those eyes just _begging _him. So he rolls to the side and slides his fingers underneath the mattress in search of the deep blue jewellery box. With a quick sweep across the top of the lid to ensure it's dust-free he pinches the sides, pops open the hinges, and presents her with the diamond ring.

"Marry me?"

The diamond catches the twinkle of the city lights outside, splashes rays of shining light across her face that matches the bright, heavenly bliss in her eyes as she whispers her answer.

"Yes."

* * *

The day rolls around all too soon, and yet not soon enough.

The golden sun shines high above the small crowd, bathing the beach in a warm afternoon glow. There's a gentle breeze rolling in off the Atlantic, swirling around their skin to lift the burn from the rays. The reeds high in the dunes rustle gently as they brush against one another. Mingled with the calming crash of waves onto the sea floor, it's the perfect prelude for the music that picks up.

It's beginning.

His eyes lift, a magnetic pull that draws them to the other end of the long white carpet.

And there she is.

Her smile is so wide already, so dazzling, just for him. Her hazel eyes are alight, enchanted, capturing the pure joy that spills across her features. The creamy-white of her dress catches the light glinting off the gentle ocean waves, a swirl of sparks thrown onto the sand as it bounces off the golden belt clinched high around her waist.

A breath of exhilaration leaves his lips, so much longing for the woman before him. He swallows for a long moment before running his tongue over the roof of his mouth in search of moisture, mouth suddenly dry as his eyes roam once again over the dress, her smile, the shine of her eyes.

It's all he can do not to run to her, to whisk her away right now.

The moment when she finally reaches the makeshift alter doesn't come soon enough. His heart flutters as he has to blink away the tears that blur her from his vision. His fingers shake ever so slightly as he reaches to take her hand from her father's. She brushes her thumb in tight, soothing circles over his skin. Not in reassurance (because he needs none of that), but rather a gentle understanding, shared only between each other.

A peaceful lull falls over the crowd as she reads her vows first (because she thinks – ridiculously so – there isn't any way hers can top his).

Her whisper of, "I do," steals his breath.

The white gold ring slides onto her finger, a perfect fit.

He captures her lips with his, first kiss as husband and wife.

She's his.

And he is hers.


End file.
